Transitions
by kgmohror
Summary: Abby and Connor have returned to the present after a harrowing year in the Cretaceous. Things should be wonderful ... so why is Abby so uneasy?


Fandom: Primeval Characters: Connor Temple, Abby Maitland Rating: PG, at most Spoilers/Warnings: a few references to events in episodes 4.1, 4.2 Disclaimer: Obviously a copyright infringement, but surely not worth suing over Summary: Connor and Abby have made it back from the Cretaceous ... yet Abby finds the world they've come back doesn't offer the peace she had dreamed of.

**Transitions**

Connor! Abby sat bolt upright, her hand automatically reaching for the improvised spear she always kept beside her. It wasn't there … and as her surroundings swam into focus, she realized she wasn't in their little nest in the primeval forest, but in the sleek and modern spare bedroom of Jess Parker's London flat, bathed in the soft gray light of dawn. Abby's reflexive self-defense response shifted instantly to a new anxiety: Where was Connor? She felt his side of the bed, still warm, and then heard the unmistakable sound of the shower turning on in the guest bath. She sighed with relief; Connor was safe — for the moment, at least.

It occurred to her to join him, but the bed was so warm and cozy that she contented herself instead with picturing him in the shower, steam rising around him as the warm water streamed down his lithe, taut body … hmmm … Abby wondered idly if she'd be able to coax Connor back into bed afterwards. A slight smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Yeah, she expected she could. She stretched luxuriously and settled back down into the soft bedding, savoring the scent of the fresh linens. She'd forgotten how it felt to feel comfortable. To be clean, and warm, and … safe? No. There might not be raptors behind every tree here, but that didn't make this world any safer than the one they'd so recently escaped from. Abby had come to accept a painful truth: No place, no time, was ever really safe.

Abby gazed around at the bedroom she and Connor would call home for a while. Jess had excellent taste, and obviously a source of income other than what Lester paid her, unless the pay scale had risen astronomically in the time they'd been away. It was generous of Jess to offer this hospitality to two people she barely knew. She seemed like a nice girl. Under different circumstances, Abby thought, they might be friends. In their male-dominated workplace, it would be nice to have a girlfriend to talk to and laugh with, like she'd had in Sarah Page.

Abby felt a stab of anguish at the thought of Sarah. Finding out that the Egyptologist had been killed trying to rescue them gutted her. Though she knew she'd have done the same if the situations were reversed, the knowledge that a beautiful, kind and brilliant woman had died because of her filled Abby with guilt and the sharp pain of loss. It was a feeling she knew only too well and was determined never to experience again. So while she would have a friendly, collegial relationship with young Jess, they would not be friends.

Keeping a safe emotional distance was something Abby was very good at, a skill she'd had to develop long before she joined the ARC operation. Because getting close was dangerous. Getting close could – _would_ – hurt you eventually. Abby had had enough of that. So she'd transferred her natural affection instead to the animals she cared for at the zoo, especially her reptiles. As cold-blooded as those creatures were, they had never caused the kind of pain that her human relationships had.

And then Connor Temple had come into her life. Abby had a vague recollection that she might have considered that innocent, goofy boy just a bit of an irritant when they'd first met — like a puppy who raced around heedlessly, leaving messes behind him. But that hadn't lasted long. How could you resist the charm of someone whose heart was as wide open as the sky, who saw the good in everybody and who treated the whole of life as a grand, glorious adventure? And so she had started to let him in —to her flat, first, and then gradually, almost imperceptibly, into her heart.

Connor had become her best friend, her always-eager partner at home and at work. He challenged her, supported her, exasperated her, made her laugh. She enjoyed spending time with him, as well as the slight frisson of arousal she sometimes felt when he stood close to her or flashed one of his wide, irresistible grins. It was only natural, she reasoned, that there should be some physical attraction between people who lived and worked together so closely. It was harmless fun, because she knew better than to let it become anything else.

It was only when Caroline Steel came on the scene that Abby had recognized the danger her heart was in. She had disliked Caroline on sight —and though she told herself it was only because she distrusted the woman's motives, a small part of her knew that it was her closeness to Connor that Abby resented. Abby had been jealous. Jealous and … scared. She had reacted badly, lashing out at Connor. Yet Connor had raced to save her from the future mer-creatures, had risked his life to save her from them on the other side of the anomaly. And he had told her he loved her.

Those words had thrown Abby's heart into turmoil. She felt confused, terrified … and, she realized with some shock, glad. And when he had subsequently back-pedaled, it hurt Abby more than she wanted to admit. She had vowed to steel herself, keep him at arm's length and protect her heart from getting into any further jeopardy.

But it was hard. He was just so damned sweet to her, so endearingly protective in his earnest, slightly awkward way. Despite her resolve, she found herself finding reasons to be close to him, to touch him and look at him. Her heart ached for him as he mourned Cutter and worried as he worked himself to exhaustion in the aftermath of his mentor's death. When he'd moved out of the flat to make room for Jack, Abby had been shocked by the keenness of the loneliness she felt without him there with her. And when she had learned how he'd gotten Rex back and protected her from knowing what an ass her little brother had been … Abby had felt such gratitude, such tenderness toward him. So, impulsively, she had kissed him. It had been meant as a quick peck, just a little thank you.

It had turned into much more.

The softness of his lips against hers, the warmth of his breath on her face, the scent of him in her nostrils, the silkiness of his hair as she curled her hand around his neck and pulled him closer to her … Abby found herself lost in this kiss, powerfully aroused, wanting more. Then she'd opened her eyes and saw Danny looking at them, grinning. It was like a dash of cold water. She'd fled, and spent the rest of that day avoiding Connor and berating herself for letting him get so far under her skin. After a sleepless night, she'd gone to him at Lester's flat the next morning, intending to tell him that they were really just best friends. That there couldn't be anything … more … between them. But before she had a chance, they had found themselves stranded in the distant past. And suddenly protecting her heart didn't seem so important any more.

It was useless, really, to try to maintain an emotional distance from Connor while they were in the Cretaceous. After all, they were utterly alone except for each other, absolutely reliant on one another for their survival. Their lives had narrowed to a pinpoint focus: staying alive. To do that, they had to be close – so entirely in synch that they operated almost as a single entity. They needed each other: for warmth, for defense, for comfort. It was inevitable that they would become lovers, and opening herself fully to Connor, heart, body and soul, had given Abby a kind of bliss she had never experienced, never even imagined. There was a name for this feeling, Abby knew. Yet one four-letter word didn't seem sufficient to describe this exquisitely sweet transformation. And though she felt it with a certainty that reached into her very soul, Abby had never been able to actually tell Connor. The power of those three little words frightened her – as if saying them out loud might somehow summon the forces of darkness to take this precious gift away from her. But surely Connor knew how she felt — her loving looks, her soft caresses and the joy that suffused every part of her must communicate that more clearly than any mere words.

In a crazy way, those first few weeks after they had come together were the happiest of Abby's , a few months ago, Abby had awoken one morning in Connor's arms, as usual. She lay listening to the sounds of the forest around them — the calls of creatures great and small, the rustlings of unknown animals in the underbrush around them. She had felt so perfectly contented, so entirely safe.

And that, she had realized instantly, was preposterous. Of course they weren't safe, would never be safe again. What they felt for one another, as powerful as it was, wouldn't protect them from a raptor's cruel jaws or a pterosaur's talons. That they had stayed alive this long was pure luck. And someday, Abby knew, that luck would run out.

It was only a matter of time before one of them was left alone here to await his or her own gruesome end. Abby knew in her heart that would be her; Connor had grown more capable in their time here, but still couldn't match her skill and quickness. The thought of living without Connor, even for a short time, was unbearable. She so feared that pain that it occurred to her, once or twice, that it would be easier to let herself be the one to fall first. But that would leave Connor on his own and vulnerable. And whatever its ultimate futility, Abby was driven with every cell of her body to protect Connor. Nothing in this world or any other was more important than that. The very notion of trying to retreat from that reality, to re-erect the barriers that had protected her heart in the past, was impossible. She was his completely. And so, when the time came, she would make sure they would go to their fate together.

But suddenly, miraculously, they were back. Yet somehow, back didn't feel like home. Instead, this new present felt in some ways as alien and sinister as the past they'd left behind. It seemed like everything they'd known had been swept away, replaced by this slick, efficient, sterile new world. The only things that remained the same were the anomalies, the creatures, and above all the ominous shadow of unknowing — where the anomalies came from, what was their purpose, who was behind them. In some ways, Abby realized, it was easier in the Cretaceous. At least there they knew the motives of the enemies they faced. Here she felt oddly off balance, unsure of who to trust and what to fear. Nothing felt safe or dependable or real.

Nothing except Connor.

He was worried about her, she knew. But how could she tell him the truth: that the world they had fought so hard to get back to filled her with dread and a deep, inexplicable sadness? That she wanted nothing more than to run away with him to some entirely new place, where they could be together … just together, and happy. No, she couldn't tell him, knowing how much it meant to him to continue Cutter's work. And anyhow, there wasn't any such place — in this world, at least.

Abby suddenly became aware that the sound of the shower had stopped, and she hastily dabbed at the tears that had formed at the corners of her eyes. She wouldn't let Connor see how afraid she was. And as long as he chose to remain at the ARC, she would be beside him.

The door to the bathroom opened and Connor stood there, a towel around his waist and his damp hair curling deliciously over his forehead. He looked tired, and a vague worry showed in his eyes. But catching sight of her, his face lit up. "Good morning, luv."

She smiled back at him and let her eyes drift over his handsome form. "Mmm, pretty good," she answered, extending an arm toward him. "But I think it could be even better."

They both laughed as he bounded across the room and into her waiting arms.


End file.
